Jessie Kensington thought she had escaped her troubled past when she faked her death and started a new life as Violet Arrowood. But three years later, she finds herself at Vanguard University on a scholarship, trying to build the future she always d...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Thump, thump, thump. It's happening again. It's happened so many times that I can't tell which version is real and which is just in my head.
The room is thick with smoke, laced with a stench I can't place. I squirm in the chair, desperate to escape their grip, but their hands are too tight, too strong against my wrists.
There are only two of them holding me down, but my sixteen-year-old frame is nothing against their forty-year-old muscles. I hear a creak in the floorboards and whip my head toward the sound. There's someone else here, and the sinking feeling in my stomach tells me exactly who it is.
I want to call out for him, to beg him to help me. But as I open my mouth, the sound of heavy boots reverberates through the floor.
Thump, thump, thump.
I flinch as the man in front of me admires something in his hand, everything moving in slow motion. I try to get away, but I'm trapped.
Thump, thump, thump.
The smell of scotch assaults my nose as he towers over me, his face inches from mine, my tears clog my vision.
I know it's a dream. I've had this nightmare so many times that I can tell myself it's just that—a nightmare. But the hands grabbing at me, the two men at my sides holding me down, are all too real. I know these men. They're my dad's friends, and the one standing in front of me is my mother's dealer.
He reaches down, the sound of metal scraping against metal as he unclasps his belt buckle. My stomach churns as he slides the belt through the loops of his pants, letting it hang freely in his hand.
It's not real. It's not real. It's not real.
His lips press against my ear, and I scrunch my eyes shut. I feel weak. I feel dirty. I want to get out.
"You think you're too good for this life, don't you?" he hisses in my ear.
He stands up, slapping the belt against his palm. I don't want to think about what happens next. I need to find a way out.
The man behind me chuckles, his grip tightening. I can see the tendons in his forearm protruding as he holds me still. I slam my head down and sink my teeth into his skin.
He howls in pain, releasing me, and I scramble for the door. "You little bitch!" he screams, but I keep running, fumbling with the doorknob. My adrenaline makes everything messier, harder to control.
The handle turns and the air whips at me as I run outside, but then I'm pulled back into the house and thrown onto the floor. A kick lurches into my stomach and sends me sprawling.
"Get her back up." Jackson demands. And they do. They set me back on the chair and force me down, but this time with a stronger grip. Their nails dig into my skin. They are three times my size, I know I can't fight them. But I try. I kick and scratch and thrust my head forward and backwards in hopes that I'd hurt them enough to loosen their grip. I scream at the top of my lungs desperate for anyone to hear me— desperate for my boyfriend to protect me from his father.
